Hale Maree and Full of Grace by Misty Provencher (Cover Reveal & Re-Release Day Blitz)

Hale Simmons’s life is already bottoming out and she’s only eighteen. Struggling on welfare, while trying to keep her alcoholic father on track, her dreams of having a better life fade a little more each day.

But, when her dad witnesses a brutal accident at the bar one night, it changes the entire course of Hale’s future.

Thrust into an arranged marriage
with Oscar Maree, the playboy son of a wealthy man, Hale must learn to trust a
stranger to give her the life she’s always wanted.

First, Hale needs to figure out if love can ever happen by accident.

Book Blurb (FULL OF GRACE)

Landon Grace is a stand-up guy, but running about 7-bananas-strong, from tequila shots at Oscar and Hale’s wedding reception, what happened between him and Sher Simmons was supposed to be a one time thing. A quickie, between the Best Man and Maid of Honor, at their best friends’ wedding.
But some one-night-stands refuse to be finished in one night.
Especially when they return with a hard shot of morning sickness.
Now, Landon is faced with a problem he never thought he’d have to consider…
Just how much sway does a guy really have, regarding a woman’s choice to pursue or terminate the pregnancy of his child?

Misty Provencher is a long-term wife, mama, and author. The first two are a bit more recent, but Provencher’s writing roots date back to the hieroglyphics she left in her mother’s womb.

While Provencher can ride a motorcycle, knows how to Karate chop, and has learned enough French, Spanish, and Sign Language to get herself slapped, Misty‘s life is actually just the ruse she uses to connect with people. She is totally enchanted with them and spends her days trying to translate the soul bouquets of her muses into words.

Misty Provencher lives in the Mitten. Knock on her internet blog door at: Misty Provencher’s Books,http://mistypro.blogspot.com/ or find her on Facebook and Twitter as Misty Provencher.

“I want you to worship me,” I say. Oscar’s entire forehead wrinkles up with amusement as he chews.

“Worship? Seriously?” he asks, mouth full.

“Yup.”

“You mean like bowing when you walk in the room? Making altars? That kind of thing?”

I roll my eyes. “No. I mean that if I call for you, I want to know that you’ll come running. I want to know that, when I walk into a room, you’ll always notice. That if I burn dinner or turn your t-shirts pink or gain five pounds, you’ll still feel lucky to have me. When we talk, I want you to really hear what I’m trying to say. That’s what I want from you.”

Oscar puts the mug on the counter. I think he’s going to tell me I’m a spoiled brat, or that I don’t know a thing about how relationships work, or that I’m just plain impossible, but instead, he leans forward with one hand on the countertop before he says, “Done.”

My fingertips slip from the door handle.

“I would notice you, Hale,” he continues, “if you walked into a room behind a 500 pound lion that was charging straight at me. I would notice you if the room were full of naked women, and I was in deep conversation about my own death. I will always come running, I’ll eat the dinner, and wear the shirts and I’ve already thought that if you put on ten more pounds, it’d be a sure bet that I would never let you out of my bed. I’ve been trying to soak up every word you’ve said since the first time we spoke, so I think it’s only fair that you try just as hard to hear me now. I think you are perfect for me, Hale, and I’m just waiting for you to realize that I’m perfect for you too.”

It’s like the entire room disappears and all I see is Oscar with his level gaze. He drops his voice to a whisper as he says, “Come here.”

But I stay where I am, with the sun warming my back through the windows, and I shake my head at him.